


Christmas (Holmes, Baby, Please Come for Me)

by a_different_equation



Series: you give love a bad name [5]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: (not between Holmes and Watson), Adultery, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Infidelity, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Mistletoe, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Relationship, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Being Idiots, Snogging, So Wrong It's Right, Sweet Sherlock, Teasing, Their Love Is So, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, sex puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2019-09-27 06:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17157284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_equation/pseuds/a_different_equation
Summary: It's the season to be jolly, and Holmes has a surprise for his Watson...Vignettes about (bad) sex puns, lots of teasing and snogging, and A Very Special (steamy) edition of idiots in love.Aka, Christmas came early for Johnlockers.





	1. A Victorian Christmas Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kelian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelian/gifts).
  * A translation of [A victorian Christmas story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17144045) by [Kelian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelian/pseuds/Kelian). 



When I entered the room, that had been the private paradise of me and my lover for many months now, a surprise was waiting for me.

That the fireplace had been lit had been something I could have expected. After all, it was Christmas Eve and London was covered in a snow blanket that made the city look like an inviting glazed cake. The most unusual sight was however that Sherlock Holmes, who had always claimed to find Christmas boring and uninteresting, was currently putting on decorations all over the room.

“Good heavens, Holmes, what are you doing?” I asked, after closing the door behind me. There were branches of pine and holly intertwined over the fireplace, mistletoes hung from the ceiling, and even I could admit that the room looked far more welcoming and joyful now, it still seemed strange for my companion to engage in such festivities.

"My dear Watson!" Holmes exlaimed and turned to me. Apparently, he had noticed my appearance before I had even opened the door. Probably the detective had recognized the steps on the stairs, or something similar. Jovial, my companion continued to speak, not taken aback by my exclamation. “I thought that you would enjoy having this place decorated for the holidays.”

I looked at him suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. Holmes was wearing shirtsleeves that were currently covered with pine needles, and I could spot some entangled in his hair as well. It should look ridiculous but I found it strangely endearing. For a second, I try to reason with myself and wanted to argue that Holmes used to look dirty and unkempt after investigations too. Yet, I could not bear it, not tonight, not any longer as such looks made him look human. It was the private side of him, one I know was a privilege to witness, and I cherished it.

Yet, my reasoning got the better part of me for a second, as I interjected: “It’s not necessary, old boy; after all we are only here...” I stopped mid-sentence. I hold my breath, realizing what I was about to blurt out; carelessly, cruel, and so very wrong. I looked at my companion with a guilty and mortified expression. Holmes did not deserve such a sentence; he only deserved love, as I really, truly loved him.

“To make love?” Holmes asked hesitantly, and when I smiled hesitantly, he smiled back. Silently, we agreed to pretend to never had that slip up. “Well, it’s not that different to Baker Street, don’t you agree? The only difference is that here is not where we live but we are able to share the same bed.”

Moreover, wasn’t Holmes right? Of course, he was, as it was truly, as if they were roommates once again. In that little room, they felt at home. It was more a place to satisfy their sexual desire. Here, Holmes came when he needed to think about an important case on his own. Recently, I had joined him again. Most days, I had remained silent, smoking a pipe, and the only difference to the old days was that from time to time, I had a new, private tool to distract him when Holmes got too lost in his thoughts. Oh, yes, the change of doing those all so-familiar things sitting side by side, naked, in bed, were truly _good_.

 

* * *

 

 

I took off my heavy coat and the scarf, which I had worn to counter the harsh temperatures outside, and placed them on the rack. We had added it to the Spartan furnishings of the room shortly after we had started our relationship because the bed as well as most other furniture was used for something else.

I went to Holmes, uncertain still, trying to reassure him as well as myself that all was good, very good.

“Sorry, old boy, I did not want to say... I did not mean what I said. You know that I not only come here for that reason, don’t you?”

I stopped in front of him. I could not see Holmes’ face as his back was turned. Holmes was finishing some red berries in the composition of the fireplace. I hesitated for a moment and then tenderly stroked his back, trying to show him with my gestures all the love I felt for him. It was not easy for me to communicate such things in words. With each passing day, I felt guiltier for what I could not say aloud but Holmes, surely, could so easily guess, surely, already had. Yet, I had spoken without thinking and let my head rule over my heart. The truth was that this room felt more like a home to me than the place I share with Mary.

It was Christmas Eve. If I could not speak about it, at least I could show it with action. That, after all, was a language more fitting to us. Seconds later, as if he could read my mind, Holmes turned to me and smiled at me once more. Then, he turned back, suggestively, and I knew what he wanted. It was so pleasant to fell the warmth of his body again, even if there was the fabric in between. It had been two or three days since we had last met, to warm ourselves up in bed, while the snow had fallen outside, and yet it seemed a lifetime ago.

“Thank God, Watson, I had almost feared that you were already tired of our relationship,” Holmes teased. I could imagine all too vividly the sparkling eyes of my lover. Oh, yes, the passion between us was still burning and our love far from vanishing. To spent only some hours in the company of Mrs Hudson in 221b Baker Street the next day. Impossible. I had not sent a telegram to announce my visit but Holmes had hoped for it anyway. Deduced and observed, he would surely say. Oh, this man...

"No... that ever..." I muttered, blushing and looking away embarrassed.

"It sounds like a statement, you know?" Holmes still amused himself by increasing the redness in my face. I looked away.

"Holmes, stop it! It is not...!” I exclaimed and stopped, searching for an adjective (proper? funny? true? Nevertheless, it is...), and when I could not decide without insulting me or him or us both, I remained silent. I felt uneasy, out of my wits. It was not my habit to say such things. It was unthinkable to use such terms for another male, surely, and I should found the thought alone rather repulsive, but it was Holmes, and sometimes, rather often in fact, I simply could not stop myself. In response, as if sensing my (change of) heart, my Holmes laughed, a reaction even more adorable, and my heart beat faster.

“Forgive me, Watson, but in reality, it’s your fault,” Holmes finally said.

“Excuse me?” I replied, bewildered and irritated by that absurd accusation, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s so easy to rile you up,” he turned to me, “and it pleases me to tease you so,” and back was his sweet smile, “that I really cannot resist.”

“I concede your point,” I agreed, smiling in return. “However, what is your excuse for indulging into holiday festivities out of a sudden, Holmes? As I can recall how little you were inclined in the past. I will whole heartily admit how splendid the room looks now, but I cannot stop wondering what has brought this on, old man.”

“This too, is your fault, Watson. It was you who infected me with the Christmas affair and the decorations. After all, in the past years, you and Mrs. Hudson have always wanted to decorate Baker Street in spite of my grievances.”

Having said his piece, he shifted his focus to the Christmas tree. Oh, yes, even a tree could be found in our rooms this winter. I could not wrap my head around this; I had to find the underlying cause of all this.

“Are you telling me, that this year you found the Christmas spirit?“ I asked, continuing to remain rather dubious.

Although I had always tried to involve Holmes in the holidays, I had never succeeded. All the years, the uttermost we could engage him was to play some Christmas carols on his violin, but mostly he had remained almost motionless in his chair, smoking his pipe. He had only reacted when the smell of goose or Mrs Hudson’s biscuits had tinted the air. In particular the latter was a secret weapon as my Holmes was a sweet tooth, and our landlady prepared it always for the occasion to his (not so) secret delight. The reason, he had explained to me repeatedly, that he was bored without a case to be carried out, and as the London criminals seemed to fall asleep during that, time of year, and his mood got darker. It had frightened me long before we had become lovers.

“What do you say, Watson?”

Holmes turned his head to look at me, bright eyes, smiling in that special way that seemed to be reserved for me, only to return his full attention to the tree. He even stood on tiptoes to pass the garland over its top! Seriously, what had happened to that man!

“It looks splendid, Holmes, as you will know yourself very well,” I said, a bit teasingly in return. I approached him and took a few ribbons and some candles with the intention of helping him. “So you decided to decorate the room,” I carried on, “while poor Mrs Hudson will take care of setting up Baker Street on her own?”

A small, amused smile stretched Holmes’ lips.

“Watson, I will have to inform you that our dear landlady does not know about my reawakening Christmas spirit. Otherwise, I am sure that you understand me, Mrs Hudson would take advantage of it to make me do some tedious work.”

I started to chuckle seconds later, Holmes joined in. We sounded like schoolchildren, and Mrs Hudson would scold us like such if she ever would find out, but my heart was soaring with joy, and I knew that my companion felt the same. We continued to put up the decorations and I discovered that it was rather pleasant to carry out that activity with Holmes at my side. Holmes and I had always been close friends for years, lovers for some time, and yet, I could not shake off the feeling that now, a new layer of our relationship was added: one of partners. When I had decorated the house together with Mary, I had found it pleasant. Now, I came to the realization that it had been nothing compared to the complacency and the intense pleasure I felt when I fixed the decoration for Holmes, or, in this case, with him.


	2. Christmas Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another year, another round of Johnlock. Sex (pun) works around the year, surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I do know that it's September, but who wants to be normal? And I don't know about the region you live, but here, it's rainy, foggy and grey all day long, hence, one needs some cheering up. Further, sexytimes with Holmes and Watson is aways a goer, isn't it? 
> 
> Therefore, Christmas came early, and with it, another installement of the "you give love a bad name"-series.
> 
> The Swiss voted for "Deck the Balls with Holmsian Follies", which got approved by the Scots, even they suggested "Christmas (Baby, Holmes, Please Come)" too. "Christmas Balls" was the favourite of the original author and a fellow Italian Johnlocker. As the latter is almost the exact translation of the original story by kelia,... "Christmas Balls" it is (which is "palle" in Italian, which means ornament and the other thing in a sexual context ;))
> 
> This should set up the mood *ha* quite nicely :)

It was Christmas Eve and London was covered with a white blanket of snow that made the city look like an inviting iced cake.

John Watson ran up the stairs to reach a room that, for many months now, had become their private lover's little paradise, and, once he had opened the door, he stopped abruptly.

Inside, the fireplace had already been lit and Sherlock Holmes was arranging Christmas decorations almost everywhere; he himself, who had always found those holidays boring and uninteresting. Hearing his lover's approch, Holmes looked out from the branches of pine and holly, woven over the fireplace and the headboard of the bed, to a small pine tree, relegated to a corner of the room, and to the small bunches of mistletoe, which hung here and there from the ceiling. Watson could admit that this way the room was much more welcoming and joyful, but taking part in those activities was strange for his intimate friend, more strange than usual at least.

Watson watched him with an raised eyebrow. Holmes was in shirt sleeves with some pine needles caught in his hair or stuck to his clothes. A normal person would have looked ridiculously like that; instead he was always the usual Holmes. Perhaps because it was not strange to see him dirty and disheveled after investigations and hunting for the culprit between woods and heaths.

"Good heavens, Holmes, what are you doing, old boy?” the doctor suddenly blurted out in a shocked tone, closing the door behind him.  
"My dear Watson!" The jovial detective exclaimed, turning to him calmly. He realized that the blond had arrived even before he opened the door, having recognized the steps on the stairs "I thought you would like this place decorated for the holidays"

"It wasn't necessary, after all we don’t ..." he stopped abruptly, holding his breath when he realized what he was about to say. He looked at his companion with a guilty and mortified expression, he certainly didn't deserve such a sentence from him, he really loved him after all.

"... come here to make love?" Holmes asked with a drawn smile, completing for him the rest of the sentence, pretending to act nonchalant, but feeling a hint of bitterness in his heart "Well, this is not exactly true, don’t you think? I find it not all that different from Baker Street, with the only differences that this is not the house we live in. Yet, we share the same bed here "

In that small room, Holmes really felt at home. He didn't consider it just a place to vent his sexual desires, not only because he came there even when he needed to be alone to reason about an important case, but also because it was there that most of the time he and his companion argued, they remained silent smoking a pipe, they talked about some new cases next to each other, naked.

Watson took off his heavy coat and scarf, which he had worn to counteract the harsh outside temperatures, and placed them on a coat rack, next to those of the other, adding his ever-present hat.

"I didn't mean it like that..." Watson took a few steps forward, uncertain, feeling decidedly sorry and uncomfortable. He felt guilty about what he hadn't said, but that Holmes had so easily sensed. He had spoken without thinking, even in his heart that room had taken on a very special value. "It wasn't what I meant, I don't think we come here just for that reason," he stopped beside his lover, who was turning his back to him as he finished finishing up some red berries in the composition of the fireplace.

"Thank goodness, I had almost feared that you were already tired of our relationship," said Holmes, turning to look at his companion in his clear eyes, without speaking seriously. He clearly perceived that the passion between them was still burning and the love far from disappearing.

"No ... that never ..." Watson muttered, blushing as he looked away in embarrassment. He hesitated a moment, then caressed Holmes’ back with tenderness, trying to show him with his gestures all the love he felt for him and that it was so difficult for him to communicate in words.

Holmes continued to smile, now in a more relaxed way, knowing that it was not in his real intentions to diminish that important place for both of them, their secret refuge. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, it was so nice to feel the warmth of his hand again even though there was a heavy fabric shirt between their skin.

It had been only two or three days since they had met the last time, to warm themselves on that same bed, while the snow was falling outside. And yet, the detective seemed to have spent a lifetime and, although he considered it unlikely, in those last hours he had hoped the doctor would send him a telegram asking him to meet, even if only for a few hours. It had been a surprise to receive the telegram that morning. He was certain that Watson would have preferred to spend the Christmans’ eve with Mary and expected to see him only the next day, at Baker Street, when the good doctor would bring the presents for him and Mrs Hudson.

"This sounded like a statement, don’t you agree?" Said Holmes, several minutes later, as if nothing had happened. “One might say even a love declaration...”

"Holmes! It's not funny! ”The doctor exclaimed, irritated.

"Forgive me Watson, but it's clearly your fault," the detective said, unable to suppress a laugh. He hoped with all his heart to see that really lovely reaction which, in his heart, he tried to stir up every time he teased him.

"Do you wished it to be?" The doctor retorted, puzzled and irritated by that absurd accusation, raising an eyebrow.

"It's always so easy to tease you, to ruffle your feathers, so that I really can't resist," Holmes turned away from the doctor to go to a large crate, next to the small potted pine tree, which seemed to contain colorful and shiny garlands.

"It’s all fine, Holmes, it’s all fine. Christmas, the joy of the season,... it’s a jolly good reason to celebrate, isn’t it. You certainly interpet it that way..." The other snorted, still looking around him, wondering where the lover had found the desire to decorate, being he always so little inclined to the festivities and extremely lazy, he knows less than not there were some cases involved.

"It’s your fault, Watson. It was you who infected me with the business of Christmas and decorations, after all in the past you and Mrs Hudson have always wanted at all costs to decorate Baker Street despite my grievances," the detective said, sounding almost like read his mind. He took a decoration from the chest then began to look at the tree, with an absorbed look.

"Are you telling me that this year you found the Christmas spirit?" Asked the blond, doubtfully.

"What do you say?" Holmes turned his head to look at Watson with shining eyes, smiling at him in that special way he reserved only for him. Then he returned all his attention to the tree and he stood on his toes just enough to let the wreath pass over its top, beginning to decorate it.

The good doctor looked at him more and more lost, wondering what had happened to the real Sherlock Holmes, because, even if he had without a doubt the appearance, that could not possibly be him.

Although he had always tried to involve him in the holidays over the years, he had never succeeded. The man, during that festive period, used to hide himself in his room playing the violin; but, more frequently, he spent hours and hours sitting in the chair smoking a pipe, in a state of total apathy. He had never seen anyone so refractory to the carols, who arrived muffled by the road, or the joyful air charged with the odors of goose and ginger biscuits, prepared the hostess for the occasion.

The reason, he had been explained over and over again, was that the detective was bored to death, without a case to play. London's delinquency seemed to doze off during that time of the year, making it burden him was a heavy cloak of boredom.

"You knows, you always manage to surprise me."

"Isn't that one of the reasons why you fell in love with me?"

"But I guess you left poor Mrs Hudson to take care of Baker Street alone," he retorted, ignoring the question. He also approached the cashier after removing his jacket, he too remaining with only his shirt, then took a few bows and a few candles, with the intention of helping him decorate the little pine tree

"You know how it is, dear granny doesn't have to know about my new Christmas spirit or she could take advantage of it to make me do some tedious work, and then if she doesn't keep herself busy in some way she gets bored, as you should well know," answered the dark while a small smile amused he stretched his thin lips.

The doctor looked up at the sky, exasperated, and said nothing, knowing full well that it would do no good, but he continued to decorate the little tree. He discovered, with a certain surprise, that it was very pleasant to do that activity together with the lover, it almost gave him the impression that he and Holmes formed a real family; a feeling much stronger than the one he felt with his wife. He had also decorated a house with Mary, waiting for the holidays; yet, although he had found it a very pleasant pastime, only then did he realize that it meant nothing to him.

It took less than half an hour to complete the tree. They both took a step back, to admire the effect, and they both felt very satisfied with the result. They turned towards each other, by chance, and Holmes's eyes widened, then burst out laughing. Watson was full of pine needles and colored threads, which were attached to him by the sticky resin of the tree.

Holmes approached the doctor a little more, tenderly starting to clean him up, as much as possible, while the doctor could do nothing but look at him spellbound, feeling his heart fill once again with love for him. Not for the first time, he thought about how unjust it was that what they felt for each other was considered monstrous and unacceptable. For him, instead, it was perhaps the most beautiful thing that had happened to him in life.

"You know, my dear doctor, this so uncluttered estate does not give it at all," he said with eyes in which it was clearly written the profound feeling he felt for him, wishing that everything could remain so forever. It would have been the best Christmas present he could receive "What will Mary tell you when she sees her go home like this?"

Suddenly, catching both of them by surprise, Watson put his arm around the detective's waist and hugged him. He felt uncomfortable, but he didn't let go. He had been completely seduced by those tender gestures of his that he knew only for himself.

The detective did not expect such a gesture from the staid and rational doctor, who usually always maintained his self-control. Only once had he really seen him without brakes, but he had no desire to get him drunk again; he usually liked Watson much more, even if that had been a decidedly intense and revealing experience.

He wondered if he should have avoided mentioning Mary. He was aware of the fact that he shouldn't have talked about her when they were together; yet sometimes he could not help himself, he wanted to see the lover's reaction in hearing about his wife being betrayed when they were together. In his heart, he feared the moment when he would have seen more interest in her than in him.

"W-what happens?" Holmes finally asked, confused.

"You... put them on purpose, didn't you?" The blond retorted, in a low voice, looking up.

"I don't understand what ..." the darkman began, caught off guard, certainly not expecting a question like that. For a few seconds, he gasped for meaning, then smiled, when he finally understood what he was talking about, then he too looked up at the ceiling. His guess turned out to be exact when he saw a mistletoe hanging over their heads; then he returned to his companion's light eyes, which each time set his body on fire and gave him emotions he had never felt before knowing him.

"I imagined it was a decoration you would have appreciated," Holmes replied as he relaxed in the grip of the man he loved, finally returning his embrace.

The corners of Watson's mouth curved into a smile before he could stop it. He was too happy and in love at that moment to be able to maintain his natural composure.

A part of his mind knew that he should have been at his house, to celebrate Christmas with his wife, but the desire to see Holmes had been too strong, so that evening he had invented an urgent case and told Mary that he probably he would not be home until tomorrow morning.

The truth was that, when he was with Holmes, he felt happy and complete, as he had never done in his life, and had no intention of changing that side of his life. He would die for those dark eyes, those lips that attracted him like magnets, that body that desired him and welcomed him impatiently. For that man who had totally changed his existence, even if he would never have admitted it in words.

"So what should happen now?" The doctor asked seriously, watching his face intently, feeling fiercely drawn to this enigmativ man with each passing second.

"Over the past few weeks, I have thoroughly studied the traditions and legends associated with Christmas. Did you know, by the way, that in some parts of Europe, the character of Saint Nicholas is associated with demons who beat and whip up bad children? In any case, from my in-depth research it emerged that, when two people are under a bunch of mistletoe, they should kiss "a quick spark crossed the intelligent gaze of the detective, followed by a mischievous smirk, “It’s a popular costum. If you want, I can show you my studies tomorrow when you come to Baker Street to pass the greetings of the season to Mrs Hudson."

Holding back a laugh, Watson bent over Holmes and kissed him for a long time, passionately, twisting his tongue to his, squeezing him closer to himself. He could feel that body, warm and tonic, against his own and a shiver ran through him from head to foot, making him shudder with desire, as he did whenever he had him next to him.

He slowly pushed his face away from that of his lover and looked at him, lingering on the long dark eyelashes still lowered; then the cheeks that, under the unkempt beard, were pleasantly flushed and, finally, the swollen and moist lips from the kiss just received. He wondered how many times Holmes still intended to make him fall in love, stealing his heart, soul and reason.

The detective took a few minutes to recover from that intense kiss, which he had found better than he had hoped for when he bought the mistletoe. Obviously, they had already kissed hundreds, if not thousands of times; and yet, that had seemed really special to him, even if he did not fully understand the reason for this sensation. He could not say if it was because of the doctor that he had not let himself pray too much, unlike other occasions, or if thanks to the festive atmosphere and that new joyful spirit, so unusual for him; in any case, he had been somewhat stunned.

He slowly passed the tip of his pink tongue to his lips, lifting his eyelids slowly to find his companion's face again, finding it tremendously beautiful and seductive. A small cramp of desire squeezed his guts and he began to feel a delicious tingling in his lower abdomen, probably the prelude of a very pleasant night.

"Only a few minutes to midnight" Holmes whispered, after a few moments, with a hoarse and caressing voice, while he touched the companion at the base of the neck with a seductive touch, without taking his eyes off his face "And I, my dear Watson, I won’t to state the obvious: that you have so far not expressed any wishes for Christmas..."

The doctor swallowed a couple of times, feeling his pants start to get too tight.

He had always wondered from whom he had learned to be so damn erotic; maybe from Irene in one of their meetings? Not that it was so important at the time to know. His mind was already disconnecting, freeing his most hidden desires which, he decided, would do nothing to stop; not that night.

"All I want for Christmas is you, Holmes" replied the doctor looking at him full of desire. He bent down again to kiss him, hungry, before grabbing him by the thighs and taking him in his arms, carrying him, then, to the bed. He was determined to immediately take the gift he so longed for, without knowing that it had been Christmas for a few minutes, while in his ears he could hear the joyous and amused laugh of the lover who clung to him.


End file.
